


Tantalize

by Woofemus



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Lapdance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 08:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15626319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: A dance only just for her.





	Tantalize

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to the ~~thirsty fuckers~~ friends who yelled lap dance at me for like an entire week

Grandport is a huge city, with _money_ , Primrose finds. It’s little wonder that Tressa’s… merchant event fair or something of that sort is being held here. If she wanted to, she could ply some of her trade here and gain what might be triple, even quadruple of her usual earnings. In a town like this, the more money people have, the more generous they are, she finds.

But, perhaps, for once, it would be better for her to take it easy. At least, that’s what she has to do now, when she has a cleric hanging off her arm, giggling to herself as she looks out over the sea.

Drink often tends to loosen the inhibitions of the mind, and Ophilia herself is no exception to the rule. Though she hadn't drank much (at least from what Primrose had seen), her face is flushed. Primrose can easily guess that Ophilia isn’t one to indulge herself in spirits very often. Whether or not that’s because of Ophilia herself, or her vow to the clergy is something Primrose doesn’t know.

What she does know is that she needs to accompany Ophilia back to the inn lest the girl end up tripping over her feet and falling into the sea.

“The ocean is so pretty, especially when the moon is up,” Ophilia whispers then, pointing up at the moon and following its path down to where it shines over the water. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing it.”

Primrose wrinkles her nose. The breeze feels nice, but all the salt in the air makes her nose twitch. She wonders how it doesn’t bother Ophilia, it isn’t as if the Frostlands have their own abundance of saltwater. It _does_ look nice, though, that much Primrose can agree.

“I never thought about it. I suppose it does look nice,” Primrose says.

And, here, Primrose feels Ophilia’s hand slides down her arm, touching the palm of Primrose’s hand with her fingers. She’s asking, still so hesitant. It’s cute, how shy she still is. Yet, she understands.

Primrose gently curls her hand, and Ophilia responds by sliding the rest of her hand in. Ophilia sighs softly, and leans against her shoulder even.

It is sentimental. It is romantic.

It is foolish.

And, yet, for all her bitterness that still has yet to fade away with her vengeance, underneath it all, Primrose can still feel her her own heart dancing.

They watch the tide of the sea together, too comfortable to move just yet. Ophilia brings her other hand up to Primrose’s arm, trailing her fingertips up and down. Primrose is tempted to put an arm around her waist and tug her closer, bring her within the warmth of her scholar’s cape. It’s a very tempting thought.

At least, until Ophilia’s fingers wander over to Primrose’s bare side instead, and Primrose sucks in a breath in surprise.

It looks consuming some spirits have also given Ophilia a new set of courage as well. Now, she’s more than glad for the cape, hiding Ophilia’s wandering fingers from any eyes behind them. But they’re distracting. She wonders if Ophilia knows exactly what she’s doing. Most likely not.

Or, as Ophilia’s fingers brush a little _too_ close to Primrose’s chest, she starts thinking maybe Ophilia _does_. How bold she’s become! Primrose’s surprised. Or, perhaps, she’s trying to deal back Primrose’s own brand of teasing—

A sudden breeze washes over them. The both of them shudder, unused to the stinging wind.

“It’s getting rather late,” Primrose says as lightly as she can, “we should retire for the night.” She looks down at Ophilia, and her own eyes widen at the half-lidded expression on Ophilia.

They certainly need to go back to their room, at this rate. She hopes the others are off doing their own business, if only so they won't see _Ophilia_ acting so brazenly, and Therion's knowing smirk isn't something she wants to see now either. Primrose pulls her closer, throws her cape as best as she can over Ophilia’s shoulders, and leads them back. She wraps an arm around Ophilia’s bare shoulders, inhaling sharply when Ophilia immediately presses up against her. The bare skin of their sides brush, and Primrose exhales loudly.

Ah, yes, another reason for them to leave. Ophilia is still garbed in the clothes of a dancer, and Primrose had caught far too many leery stares directed toward her. Had Ophilia been of the right mind, she would have noticed, but she’s glad the merrymaking of their companions, and the mugs she’d been given had dulled her to the unwanted attention of strangers.

The walk back is thankfully uneventful. At least, as uneventful as it can be with Ophilia giggling to herself and brushing her fingers against Primrose’s side, always so light like a feather. Primrose is struggling not to rush right back to their room lest they trip on their feet in their haste.

The moment they step into their room and the door closes behind them, Ophilia whirls to her. Primrose can recognize that expression on her face, the one that speaks of so much _yearning_. But Ophilia has always been shy to her own desires and even when it’s more than clear what she wants, she’s still reluctant to act upon them, like she is afraid.

Here is when Primrose leans close, brushing their lips together in the faintest of touches, waiting for Ophilia to close the distance herself. But, that’s only under normal circumstances. Right now, Primrose is in a mood for indulging, so she does it for the both of them.

Ophilia always kisses very slowly, always starts off so uncertain and unsure, like she can scarcely believe herself. It’s cute, endearing most of the time. But now right now, when Primrose isn’t in the mood to go slow, and she knows there’s a fire starting to roar inside Ophilia too when her arms circle around her neck, trying to pull her closer.

Except, it seems Primrose’s underestimated Ophilia and her passion. When Primrose pulls away to gasp and breathe, Ophilia quickly follows after her, as if unwilling to even let her stay away for a moment longer. It’s shocking, so uncharacteristic of Ophilia to be so… demanding, but Primrose doesn’t mind. She smiles into their kisses, and feels Ophilia do the same as well.

Ophilia starts to tug on her clothing after a while, trying to step backward. Primrose understands the message well enough, and moves forward with her, neither of them willing to break contact. An awkward dance, more of a fumble, and they somehow don’t stumble to the floor in their tango. Somehow, Primrose loses the cape on her shoulders in the process, not that she minds.

And, in yet another surprise, Primrose is the one who finds the back of her knees hitting the edge of the bed, falling down. Before she can move, Ophilia is climbing on top to straddle her, legs on either side of her. Ophilia leans forward before suddenly thinking better of it, sitting back on her haunches instead to stare down, almost towering over her. She’s breathing heavily, the look in her eyes so heated that Primrose can hardly believe someone such as _Ophilia_ can make such an expression.

But, of course she can. Primrose knows, because she’s teased out this look so many times already.

Ophilia hasn't stopped watching her, like she's waiting for something to happen. To see her in such disarray, and the ardent look in her eyes makes Primrose nearly shudder and lick her lips. Ophilia is a beautiful woman, and to see her with such a fervent expression as she gazes upon Primrose is the greatest compliment she could ever receive.

Then, Ophilia blinks, the look gone from her face. “I… ah, um, I…” _Now_ , she’s seemingly realizing the situation they’re in. Or, as Primrose can finally see, her mind’s finally caught up to what she’s doing. All Primrose can do is offer a wry smile in return.

“I’m enjoying myself, don’t worry,” Primrose says with a tiny laugh, low and throaty. Suddenly shy and uncertain, Ophilia bites her lip instead—Primrose decides she rather likes this look for her. But there’s another problem on hand, and that’s Ophilia’s letting her embarrassment get the best of her, which is the last thing Primrose wants here.

Carefully, Primrose smooths hands over the top of Ophilia’s thighs. Gods, she wants so much to tear away the skirt, to feel her skin underneath. Ophilia still donning her dancer’s outfit is a blessing that Primrose is endlessly thankful for right now. Getting her out of her cleric’s dress is an exercise sometimes. Rather, getting her out of the cleric’s dress with the dress in _one_ piece is a real task.

Ophilia moves her hands, laying them over Primrose’s and squeezing them softly. She’s reassuring herself, trying to calm herself, trying to keep her embarrassment from overwhelming her. The blush on her face runs deep, down to her chest even. The hunger is starting to dissipate—Primrose moves her hands so her fingers brush against the bare skin just above her hips, trying to coax her.

Just a little more, a tease, a _goad_. “We can stop here if you’re not—” and Primrose finds herself silenced when Ophilia brings a finger to her lips, shushing her. It looks like her liquid courage is back. There’s a frown on Ophilia’s face, as if offended that Primrose could even suggest such a thing. It only makes Primrose smile, her gambit paying off.

“That’s… that’s alright,” Ophilia whispers with a shake of her head. The hand on her lips starts to move, trailing downward. Fingers brush against her top (Primrose wants dearly to fling it off of herself right now), stopping to briefly palm the swell of her clothed breast before continuing to their destination downward.

Ophilia makes an awed sound when she lays her hand over Primrose’s stomach. Her touch is gentle, almost reverently, before feeling every inch of skin. Ophilia enjoys touching her here, always taking her time to marvel at the muscles there, how firm and smooth they are from all of Primrose’s dancing and practicing. Even Primrose admits she likes the attention, especially when she can see and hear Ophilia's breath quicken even more.

But even Primrose is starting to breathe hard too, squirming underneath Ophilia's touches. She wonders how much of a tease Ophilia knows she's being just by only touching her here and never moving lower to where she really wants. But, it’s also rare for Ophilia to take the lead, and Primrose wants to do her best to enjoy it all.

… it would still be nice if Ophilia could go faster.

Ophilia finally leans down, kissing her deeply. Primrose groans into it, bringing her hands up to run all over Ophilia’s bare lower back. She can feel Ophilia shuddering under her hands, unable to keep still as Primrose runs her fingers along the line of her back.

Feeling Ophilia writhe above her makes an idea comes to Primrose, one that makes her suddenly break off their kiss to whisper against Ophilia’s lips. “Dance for me,” she says, not sure herself if she’s asking or commanding. Ophilia freezes, pulling back to look at her, eyes wide.

“Dance? _Now?_ ” she asks, incredulous. Primrose quickly nods, unable to help the grin that comes to her face.

“Yes… just how I did for you before,” she murmurs, enjoying the blush that comes to full force as Ophilia remembers that exact memory.

“Like… _that_ ,” Ophilia mumbles, averting her eyes.

“Please,” she says, and she knows she’s worn down Ophilia’s resistances when her expression softens.

“I… I can try,” Ophilia starts, shyly, “but I won’t be as good as you were—are.”

“It doesn’t matter about being good.” She pushes herself up into a sitting position, loosely holding onto Ophilia as she stares at her. “I only wish to see _your_ dance, Ophilia.”

 _Just for me_ , she wants to add but holds back her tongue instead.

“Then... “ Ophilia closes her eyes. Primrose leans forward and presses kisses against Ophilia’s neck, trying to encourage her. It seems to work, because she can feel Ophilia’s body starting to sway.

“Are you sure?” Still, Primrose wants to ask one last time. She can get a dance out of Ophilia another time, when she’s ready, when she’s—

Ophilia kisses her. It’s a distraction, Primrose knows, but it does its job, when Ophilia pulls back and cradles her face and it’s all Primrose can do to give Ophilia her undivided attention instead.

“I’d like to…” and Ophilia swallows, like she’s trying to push all her reservations down, “try.” When she opens her eyes and looks at Primrose—ah, there it is, that determination that comes onto her face when she meets a challenge, when she wants to prove herself.

Although, Primrose thinks, _this_ isn’t exactly the sort of thing someone like _Ophilia_ should be determined about.

Primrose takes her arms away and leans on them as she looks up at Ophilia, seated so nicely in her lap already. She won’t lie to herself, the thought of Ophilia dancing for her is exhilarating. Even the way Ophilia still seems so shy yet willing to try for her is enough to make Primrose’s heart beat even faster. She’s been so used to dancing for other people, so used to bending her own will for the sake of pleasing others, and now when she finally has the favor returned, she’s almost at a loss as to what to feel. How strange, to come to depend upon someone else.

“Primrose?” Ophilia is still cradling her face but there’s a furrow to her brow now. Worried? Primrose isn’t sure why, until Ophilia speaks again. “I’m sorry, you suddenly seemed like you were thinking of something else.” The way Ophilia strokes her cheek so gently, the way she looks upon Primrose with such tenderness, stirs a pang through her.

It’s a warmth she thought she’d never feel again, ignited once more. It makes her almost laugh, that someone like her could…

Primrose shakes her head. Not now. “I am fine, don’t worry,” she says instead. She nuzzles one of Ophilia’s hands, one corner of her lips twitching into a smirk. “I’m still expecting a dance, you know.”

“Ah…” Ophilia flushes in embarrassment, but still, she nods. It makes Primrose smile, the way Ophilia’s resolve shines in the strangest of times.

“Then,” Primrose speaks, her voice low, “pray, come hither.” And Ophilia, after a moment of deliberating, starts to move.

Her movements are slow, still uncertain, with a veil of embarrassment behind them. If they had some more wine perhaps, this would make things easier for Ophilia, to loosen some more of her reservations and embarrassment. Primrose thinks about her advice to Tressa, to think of the audience as fish, and she has half a mind to tell Ophilia that same sort of advice here, but that would be wildly inappropriate.

“Yes… you’re doing good,” Primrose says instead, meeting Ophilia’s eyes to reassure her. Ophilia slowly nods, and from her encouragement, Ophilia’s motions start to gain confidence.

Ophilia slides her hands away from Primrose’s face, to brace them upon Primrose’s shoulders like she’s steadying herself. One of them trails down again, fingers teasing at the edge of Primrose’s top like they’re about to sneak underneath before continuing downward to her abdomen instead, leaving her hand there to feel the muscles there once more. They tease along the hem of her skirt, and Primrose wishes they were underneath her clothes instead.

Her hips gyrate across Primrose’s lap, the bottom of her skirt teasing the top of Primrose’s bare legs in a way that feels _so_ insufferable.

Primrose is pressing her fingers into the bedsheets, trying so hard to control herself even as she can feel the heat inside of her starting to become unbearable. Ophilia’s movements are still clumsy, and yet, Primrose finds herself enthralled, unable to look away. Ophilia sways her hips, rolling them against her body, and Primrose groans.

With more practice, Ophilia can only get better at this sort of dance—but Primrose isn’t so sure about being able to hold herself back every time.

She dips lower, enough for the center of her legs to brush against Primrose’s thigh. It’s more than enough for Primrose to feel the wetness soaked through the undergarments.

Primrose sucks in a breath and clutches at the bedsheets.

Evidently, Ophilia likes that as well, stopping to grind against her leg. The quiet moans and gasps Ophilia’s making aren’t helping in the slightest. The ache between Primrose’s legs grows even stronger. Maybe, if Ophilia were to just move her knee a little bit, just enough for Primrose to—

Ophilia pulls back slightly, moving her hands off Primrose. She uses one of them to trail a hand down her own body, almost agonizingly slow, as slow as the rhythm she's moving her own body to now as well. Primrose stares intently at it, half wishing it was her own hand that was there, twitching as she struggles even harder to hold herself back. She bites her lip when Ophilia’s reaches the hem of her skirt, her fingers slipping underneath as she tugs on it.

“Is… is it fine if I take this—”

“ _Please_ ,” Primrose is all but nearly begging at this point. She wants to feel all of Ophilia’s legs, run her hands up and down them. Except, for some reason, Ophilia is blinking at her, watching her for several long moments before her hand moves away from her skirt.

Something should be said about Ophilia’s amazing discipline, except Primrose herself is on the verge of tearing off Ophilia’s clothes in that moment. Or, perhaps it’s how Ophilia’s realized the power she has over her. Primrose doesn’t really care, all she wants is to feel Ophilia’s bare legs wrapped around her, to feel her clinging to her as Ophilia cries out her name as she—

Primrose can’t recall the last time she’s ever felt this hot and bothered. She can’t help herself anymore, and leans forward—just as Ophilia turns her head at the same second so Primrose kisses her cheek instead of her mouth. Is this deliberate? Primrose doesn’t know, but this is _awful._ She knows she asked for this, but even Primrose has her own limits, and Ophilia is apparently very good at pushing them, she finds.

Who taught her to be such a tease?

... most likely Primrose herself. Ophilia is a very fast learner.

Ophilia moves her hands back to Primrose’s face and tilts her head up, forcing Primrose to stare up at her. Ophilia’s eyes are half-lidded, dark and hazy. She kisses her several times, quick and fast, never long enough for Primrose to reciprocate. It drives Primrose mad. All the teasing she’s done to Ophilia before then is finally getting back at her.

She can’t take it anymore. Primrose trails a hand down Ophilia’s body in return, sliding down her sternum, running her fingers across the soft skin of her stomach. Ophilia gasps against her cheek and jerks her hips forward, a clear signal where she really wants Primrose to touch, just as worked up as she is.

She pushes her hands underneath Ophilia’s skirt instead, laying them on her bare thighs—no, this is too restrictive. She _wants_ to be able to see her hands on Ophilia. She pulls out one of her hands and starts tugging on it, enough for Ophilia to get the idea to move her legs so Primrose can pull both her skirt and undergarments off all in one motion.

Ophilia makes a choked sound when Primrose immediately returns her hands to her thighs, running her hands over them.

“Primrose,” she says, panting. Her legs spread apart even further and her hands reach out, cradling Primrose to her bosom and panting into the top of her head as she pleads again with another jerk of her hips. Her hands tangle into Primrose’s hair, knocks off the hairband and freeing Primrose’s hair to cascade down her back.

 _Yes_ , Primrose nearly hisses, groaning instead when she feels Ophilia’s slickness grinding against her once more. One of her hand reaches up, to push Ophilia’s top off her breasts so Primrose can run her tongue over them. Ophilia cries out, her fingers digging through Primrose’s hair as she jerks her hips again, somehow even more insistently. Even though Primrose feels like she’s about to go mad herself, Ophilia’s so worked up that it seems cruel to tease her any longer.

Primrose easily slides a finger in, the both of them moaning in tandem at the sensations. Ophilia starts to rock her hips, and Primrose is left following her rhythm. On either side of her, she can feel Ophilia’s legs quaking, barely able to hold herself upright were she not already holding onto Primrose.

When her thumb brushes against Ophilia’s clit though, Ophilia jerks her hips forward so suddenly and hard that Primrose’s caught off guard. She tumbles backward onto the bed, grunting as Ophilia falls on top of her.

Ophilia panics, raising her head to look at her, concerned. “P-Primrose!? Are you—” she cuts herself off with a gasp. There’s a dull pain but it matters little to Primrose, who only gets right back to work on Ophilia.

“I’m fine,” she says, and Ophilia only groans in response, starting to kiss her neck. Primrose bares more of her neck, hissing when she feels Ophilia’s tongue running down the column of her skin.

Ophilia’s rocking starts to get erratic, more frantic. Primrose looks down at her, and sees Ophilia’s biting her lip, trying to hold back her moans. Primrose would like to hear them, but seeing Ophilia trying to restrain herself even as she’s grinding so desperately for release, her whole body shaking and trembling...

This, too, is its own beautiful dance.

Ophilia’s cry is muffled against her skin before her body goes slack. Primrose doesn’t stop but she slows the movements of her hand, waiting for Ophilia to stop shaking before continuing once more. Ophilia snaps open her eyes, wide with surprise before she squeezes them shut, her hips already rocking forward once more to Primrose’s rhythm. She’s panting, whispering Primrose’s name like one of her prayers, her moans caught at the back of her throat as she’s brought to a second high.

Ophilia shudders once more, and collapses completely against Primrose. Now, Primrose removes her fingers, and licks them clean. She’d like Ophilia to watch her, because Ophilia always seems to get so embarrassed watching her do this, but she’s still trying to catch her own breath, rubbing her own thighs together in a poor attempt at relief. So Primrose focuses on watching Ophilia recover instead, using her other hand to stroke her hair.

Finally, after what feels like a long time, Ophilia opens her eyes. She’s blinking up at Primrose blearily, like she’d just woken up from a nap. She looks so dazed that Primrose’s tempted to lean forward and kiss her, but Ophilia shakes her head, and clarity seems to return to her.

“Did… are you still…” She’s still too shy to speak so crassly but Primrose understands all the same as she shakes her head. She’d distracted herself by watching Ophilia but now the aching is worse, burning so bad that she’s on the verge of finishing herself off.

“Let me help you,” Ophilia whispers, her hand snaking down between their bodies. Primrose’s hand shoots down faster, tugging off all her garments down there and kicking them away just as Ophilia’s hand reaches her.

It doesn’t take very long for Primrose to reach her own peak herself, already _so_ wound up after everything. All she needs is a few thrusts and a stroke of her clit and already, Primrose is arching her back, her release going through her. She falls back down against the bed, panting, suddenly so spent.

“How... how was it?” Ophilia asks in a quiet voice, bashful, and also tired. It’s obvious that she’s spent as well and would like to close her eyes and sleep, but she’s watching Primrose instead. The open fondness and affection in her eyes makes an unexpected burst of warmth run through Primrose. She can’t help herself, turning toward Ophilia and kissing her slowly, smiling when she feels Ophilia sleepily reciprocating.

“A wonderful show, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you,” Primrose says once they break apart, and Ophilia laughs softly, the sound ringing through Primrose’s ears.

“I’m… um, glad, I suppose,” she says, blushing so strongly that even Primrose can feel it.

“Dance for me again, next time?” Primrose asks, half teasing, half serious. The blush on Ophilia’s face grows even stronger as she sputters.

“I…” Ophilia bows her head, hiding her face by tucking it under Primrose’s neck. “Per… p-perhaps,” she says, and Primrose only smiles against Ophilia's hair, already looking forward to it.


End file.
